


Forever Could Mean So Much More

by humancorn



Series: IronHawkShield [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint Barton & his canon intimacy issues, Clint Barton doesn't have a family, Cuddling & Snuggling, Deaf Clint Barton, Definitely not MCU Canon or 616 Canon or general Marvel Canon, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt Tony Stark, IronHawkShield - Freeform, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Not Canon Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Only very small angst, Other, Sleepy Cuddles, Smol Avengers Need Hugs, Steve Rogers is a Fucking S.A.P., Threesome - M/M/M, civil war never happened, this is like not related to any actual marvel verse because it's too vague, tony stark has abandonment issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 11:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10513290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humancorn/pseuds/humancorn
Summary: IronHawkShield“How is it that I’m always the one who ends up in the Morning-Tony-Death-Grip?” Clint asked.And Steve answers the only way Clint expects him to: by tracing an infinity symbol on his forearm.IronHawk focus next





	1. Clint Barton/Steve Rogers Focus

**Author's Note:**

> Last of this story is coming up kids. Only 2 more chapters. <3 Then we're gonna move on to space pirate AU.

Clint groaned as he tried to wiggle himself out of Tony’s grip without waking him. And as Tony tightened his grip around Clint’s waist, he could faintly see Steve’s chest rise and fall from the other side of the bed. _Lucky Bastard_.

“How is it that I’m always the one who ends up in the Morning-Tony-Death-Grip?” Clint whispered in Steve’s direction, sighing as Tony only twisted himself further around him. Steve let out a breathy laugh then, and leaned over to place his hand on Clint’s forearm, tracing out his response with his fingertips on the open skin. “You are warmer. A space-heater.”

“Of-fucking-course.” Clint huffed, pretending to be upset and failing after approximately 30 seconds, or, precisely when Tony decided to nuzzle his face into Clint’s chest. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips and Steve began to trace an infinity symbol onto his forearm. _Forever_.

Clint could recall the first time Steve had said that to him. Or, signed it to him would be more accurate. He’d spelled it out slowly, after their date marking their 2 year anniversary. Tony had smiled, called Steve an Old Sap, and given him a quick kiss. Clint’s breath had caught in his throat and he had run. Because, forever was too _close_. Forever, said in such unguarded honesty, was undoubtedly the most frightening thing Clint had ever seen. Nothing could be forever and he’d dared hope long enough.

It had taken them 2 weeks to find him holed up in the inner vents of Agent Coulson’s office and 4 more after that for him to tell them what was wrong. Steve had apologized after he’d explained, but it had taken 2 months for Clint to be able to touch either of them again.

He could also remember the first time that he, himself, had said it. 3 years after Steve had first brought it up, after a particularly rough fight between Steve and Tony, Clint had been intermittently comforting both of them. Bringing Tony cocoa and pecking him carefully on the forehead; Holding Steve and reassuring him that everything would be fine. _Forever, he’d said_ , _don’t worry because they were forever and they would always be **forever**._  A lanky, unbidden death sentence said to him prior, morphing into a welcomed praise when coming from him now. Steve had frozen, had brought his hand up to cup Clint’s cheek. _Forever,_ he’d asked. And Clint had nodded, turning to peck a kiss into his palm.

A few months after, and Steve had begun the habit of idly kneading infinity symbols any time he was holding one of them. Tony found it cute, he’d always make an effort to trace something back or steal an extra kiss. Clint found it relaxing, after a while. Subtle reassurance, calming of nerves, of insecurities. Forever, silent yet deafening.

And now, Steve still kneading his forearm, and Tony still squeezing the life out of him, Clint supposed he knew what Steve had known all those years ago: _Forever could never be enough time with these two dorks by his side._     


	2. Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stony Focus; you really don't have to read any of these in chronological order.

Nothing in his life was more important to him than his two idiots. Tony knew this, and he’d accepted it a long while ago. It’s probably why he felt so empty when only one of them was in bed when he woke up. Either Steve was out training, or making breakfast, or Clint was at the shooting range, on an away-mission, etc. It still scared him to no end when one of them wasn’t there. It had almost been five years now, their fifth anniversary coming up in less than 2 months. March 23rd. He’d already bought the presents, already made the reservations, already taken the time off work, already done so many things and it was still 2 months away. Every morning he woke up without one of them, he worried. About little, trivial things, of course. Would the reservations go to waste? Would the people who knew him there scoff at him if Clint and Steve didn’t show up? Would the people who had doubted this arrangement would work use him as an example of failure? Would the presents he’d bought for them remind him of better times? Would those memories drive him to drink again? What-ifs. So many possibilities, so many ways things could go _wrong_.

Steve rolled over, as if he could feel Tony worrying, and draped a heavy arm over his waist. He pulled him in, pressing Tony close against his chest and Tony could feel little butterfly kisses on the back of his neck, Steve’s forefinger absently tracing his sappy infinity symbol on Tony’s stomach.

“Where’s Clint?” Tony whispered, tilting his head to the side to give Steve access to the junction between his shoulder and neck. Steve traced a small bite mark Clint had left last night with his tongue.

“He had to go pick up Nat at the airport. Her ride skipped out.” Steve muttered against his neck, before pressing a chaste kiss behind Tony’s ear. “He’ll be back in a bit, darlin’, please don’t worry.”

Tony huffed and wiggled out of Steve’s arms, turning around to face him in the process. He booped Steve on the nose and frowned at him.

“I’m not worried.” The engineer hiked up a leg between Steve’s and tangled their legs together, “I was just curious.” Tony played it off, rolling his eyes for extra measure.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re trembling like there’s no tomorrow. C’mere, you silly little genius. Let’s try to sleep a little while longer, until he gets back. Sound good? And then we’ll all spend our day off watching bad movies and eating junk food. I think Clint just ordered Trolls 2 and The Room from Amazon, so we’ve got a wild day ahead of us.”

“Fine, fine. Big fuckin’ lug. You’re heavy though, so get off me.” Steve moved his arm, and Tony repositioned himself so he was laying half-way on Steve’s chest. “I still say that your pecs are the best pillows.”

“And I still say that you should take your earrings out before going to bed, if only so I’m not stabbed in the chest when you want to _use_ my pecs as pillows.” Steve punctuated his point with a kiss pecked onto the top of Tony’s head, and as he drifted off, he could feel Steve lace his fingers into his own.


	3. A day in the life of Steve Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Steve forgot, truly, truly, that his boyfriends were not super soldiers like himself.

Sometimes Steve forgot, truly, truly, that his boyfriends were not super soldiers like himself. Bruises, black and blue, dark and electric, always littered their bodies after a battle, some battles worse than others. A large, deep purple bruise covering Clint’s entire left side, a few gingerly hairline-fractured ribs for Tony, and Steve was immediately in mother hen mode. Hot drinks, soup, demanded bed rest, and lot and lots of pillows, soft kisses, and cuddling. Clint generally ended up grumpy as hell, insisting he did not need bed rest, and Tony acted like he was a literal King, completely content with being pampered left and right, laying, feet propped up on a giant mountain of pillows, sipping a huge mug of coffee like this was a normal, everyday occurrence.

Eventually Clint settled down, mug of black coffee and his favorite trade-paperback in his hand. Tony had pulled him down into the bed with them about 20 minutes ago, and he was now sandwiched between both of them; Clint rested his hand lightly on top of Steve’s head, and Tony was tucked under his right arm, curled loosely around his torso. Steve glanced up at Clint, reading glasses on and hearing aids out, and reached out his left hand to trace on Clint’s thigh. _Do you need –_ Steve started, and Clint frowned at him, pulled lightly at his hair. Steve stopped.

“Cranky-pants.” Fully knowing that Clint would not be able to hear him, he shifted a bit to press a kiss into Tony’s hair. “Tony, do you need anything?” He could feel the smaller man smile through the thin fabric adorning his chest, and Steve impulsively pulled him closer.

“I’m perfect, right here.” He answered, nuzzling his face into Steve’s pectorals, “I’ve got my favorite pillows, and both of my boys here. A large-ass pile of blankets, and a pot of coffee on the nightstand. What else could a man need?” Tony settled back down, eyes closed, breathing evening out, and Steve wondered if he’d done enough. Wondered if they’d had enough to eat, enough to drink; wondered if they were both comfortable enough to get some needed rest. Clint’s hand shifted from the top of his head, searching absently until he found Steve’s free hand, intertwining their fingers together before he laid the book on the night stand and gingerly laid down. He pressed up against Steve’s side, lopping his leg over Steve’s and on top of Tony’s.

“You need to sleep too, Cap.” Clint squeezed his fingers and Steve melted a little. He kissed Clint’s forehead, and the archer let out a small chuckle before falling off into sleep as well. And Steve just laid there, not tired in the slightest, and listened to each of them breathe. Soft, even, not burdened by any unnecessary worries, or the scrapes and bruises scattered all over their bodies. He worried about them; he worried that they were pushing themselves too far, too hard. And he makes sure he runs a little slower when he and Clint run together in the mornings, or punches a little softer when he and Tony spar.

He let out a soft sigh and settled down, relaxing his body muscle by muscle, forcing himself into sleep. In the morning, even though the bruises won’t have faded all that much, Clint will be up and about, most likely at the firing range, and Tony will be working away in his lab. Breakfast will be waiting, along with a warm pot of coffee, and everything would be okay. 


End file.
